Tempus Fugit or Time Flies
by nedfan
Summary: Missing Scene: Jack and Jessica on the dinnerdate in Spy Games. Only advice: there's more to it than it seems


**Author's Note: **On another site I was dared into writing a missing scene for an episode of Sue Thomas F.B. Eye. In my response to that dare this came out. The original side note I included:

Be careful what you wish for, a story with a possible twist.

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The Dare 

In the episode Spy Games, Jack and Jessica were sharing a late night supper at one of the local restaurants. We only heard a portion of the conversation that the two had.  
The dare is to write more of that conversation; giving us insight as to Jack's thoughts about continuing a relationship with Jessica...NOT!

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**Tempus Fugit / Time Flies**

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_This precious stone_

_Set in the silver sea._

_Which serves it_

_In the office of a wall,_

_Or as a moat_

_Defensive to a house,_

_Against the envy_

_Of less happier lands_

_This blessed plot, this earth,_

_This realm, this England_

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**William Shakespeare**, _King Richard II_

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He opened the door for her. "After you." She cast him an amused smile. "Never knew gallantry survived after the Declaration of Independence…""You'd be surprised," he responded, smiling as he entered Jimmy P.'s Restaurant after her. A wave of familiarity washed down over him, seeing her dark curls dancing with every step she took, her lightly tinted skin. Her perfume. And her accent, that had him done for all these years ago. _Time flies, but some things will remain_, he thought.

"Jack?" Jessica said. "You're still around?"

"Yeah, sure." _Get a grip on it Hudson, you haven't seen her in years, nor heard from her…_

Jessica looked around in the restaurant. "It looks, well…. modern and with a tad bit of Europe Chic."

"It may not be The International in Covent Garden, but it's nice too." She squinted her eyes a little as she sat down opposite him. "Did we ever go there? I can't remember."

"Once," Jack said. "And I'm still paying for it." She began to laugh.

He couldn't help notice how she tilted her head backwards when she laughed, a few fine lines near her eyes and the corners of her mouth. _Time's been gentle on you, Jess._

She caught him staring and lowered her eyes for a second, and stroked back a curl behind her ear. She cleared her throat. "Now you mention it, I do remember you declined for ordering a cabbie, and opted for the Tube instead." He nodded, laughing, as he sat back in his chair. "And there was me thinking the best way to get from Leicester Square to Waterloo was using the Piccadilly Line."

"And threw a Londoner's caution into the wind."

"We did, however, get where we wanted to, using a few detours."

"Yes we did." She played a little with her napkin, unsure whether she dared to look into his eyes. Cautiously she looked up, to find him staring at her, lost in thoughts.

"Penny for them?" He seemed to shake something off when he responded. "I'm not sure whether they're worth a penny. If you're referring to British currency." He flashed her a weak smile. "Dollar's weak."

He knew it was a lame line, but he was not sure if he could share what he was thinking. He wasn't sure _if _he was thinking indeed; or merely registering emotions, with no possibility of stopping them. When they dated, something instantly clicked. Her British tongue-in-cheek, her strong personality and the new thrilling experience of meeting another culture, in which his customs rooted, but which differed in countless ways he'd never imagined.

And, last but not least: her looks. He'd be a liar if he had not acknowledged that Jessica was granted a high price in the old looks department. Subconsciously, for it only became clear to him later, she had worked her way in his heart. He looked at her, how she was reading the menu, but how, through her eyelashes, she cast glances at him.

_There was a time I though it could be possible that she's the one. It felt so good, a promise perhaps, unspoken but possible_, he mused. Jessica laid down her menu. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah, I'm okay"

"I meant, if you're feeling awkward about this….", she carefully said, while she scanned his eyes. "This?", he asked. "The late supper," she answered.

"No, not at all, I'm kind of hungry myself too," he answered; avoiding the subject she carefully tried to bring into the conversation. She smiled, and he knew by her smile she did not buy it. "I understand if you're not sure what to think, with me suddenly showing up after all these years," she began. "Jess," he interrupted. She looked up, her eyes brightening up. _Jess, how easy that went from formal to familiar_ he thought. _Do I want it to be familiar again? Do I want her?_

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Her voice grew soft. "Yes?" 

_What was I intending to say? That it's long ago? Hell yes, it is. Too long ago? Perhaps._

He cleared his throat. "There's nothing awkward about two friends having dinner," he said. _Friends. Or more?_

He could see that the same question crossed her mind too. Once again, he performed an evasive manoeuvre to avoid having to answer, to express deep-rooted emotions.

He hadn't always been like this. But he knew just when he had become shyer in admitting his innermost to someone else.

"You're right," Jessica said. "We had supper before, and after."

He nodded. "A row of suppers, of which four were official."

She furrowed her brows. "Four dates? No, three."

He smiled. "Four dates."

"Three, I don't count the one on the pistol range."

He acted hurt. "But that was my favourite one." He leaned forward, his finger waving semi-admonishingly at her. "You won't count it because I was a better shot." She rolled her eyes. "It did never feel right, because I let you win."

They laughed. Hearing her laugh made him suddenly go back in time, when he had thought the smiles and the laughter were solely meant for him to see and hear. _Hopelessly naïve_ he reasoned with the hindsight time had provided. But back then, he truly believed in it.

It made the landing the more painful when it ended.

"Well, one thing we can agree on, you did very well for yourself." He smiled at her. _Yes, you did very well. MI6 nonetheless. And still desirable…_

She shied her eyes down for a second or two, and it looked like a slight blush has crept on her face. Something, he noticed, he enjoyed seeing. _He_ _still enjoyed seeing_.

"That's because I knew how to play the game, you, on the other hand, never cared for the game." There was the classical relativism of the British, they had to be born to believe it was the best to always more humble about oneself, modest perhaps, compared to the outright, self-confident Americans.

"You done well because you're smart and capable." He paused, to add with a wink "and because you know the game." Jessica smiled. But it quickly faded, he saw, to be replaced by what looked like regret. "One thing I didn't do so well: ending us." Her voice was soft.

_An understatement_ he thought. Of course, he had broken up with women, girlfriends, before. Allie and him broke up numerous times.

But this separation hurt. More than he had imagined. He had wanted her, had wanted to stay with her, and see where life would have taken them.

Or that was what he had come to realise _after_ the break. There had been something enthralling about her, about their relationship. Usually, a date would be following the same old pattern: dinner, another dinner, a first kiss leading to more. But with Jessica it wasn't that normal. Of course, they had had dinner too. But what date read Shakespeare to you on your first one, and you enjoyed it? Not many, he was sure, if at all.

He had often wondered whether he would see her again, what he would feel. _What she would feel_. Now, having her in front of him, hearing the regret, all the scenarios that he had played in his head were rendered useless.

"It's like you said: wrong place, wrong time. You said you had other things first to do."

She looked down to her hands. "And now here we are again: different place, different time."

_Could it work now, could we go on from where we left? Are we the same people as we were back then?_ He honestly didn't know. _Did he want to continue, or give it another try?_ Again, he didn't know. The familiarity of having her around, having dinner: it felt like a warm shroud. A comfortable shroud, one he knew. _I could very well continue from where you and I left…_

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"Perhaps not the best circumstances for a reunion." He pursed his lips. The case. "We'll find your Agent. Hopefully not too late." She took a sip of her wine and placed it carefully on the table again before she spoke again. "You don't know him as I do." 

He was slightly taken aback by her comment. On the surface of it, there was nothing wrong with the statement and the message it carried. But he knew her, had known her, and could tell when she meant more than she actually said. _Even after all these years_. That had him surprised. He frowned.

"Why don't you fill me in?"

She seemed hesitant to start. "For a time, Jonathan and I were involved…"

_What?_

"How involved?" he asked, feeling his heart sink. _What do you expect? That she had remained single after you broke up? You certainly did not… eventually. _

"Three years."

He had to swallow hard. "That's pretty involved."

She looked away from him, avoided his eyes. He remembered the day she had ended 'us' back then, how she had, perhaps cowardly, avoided looking into his eyes immediately after she announced her decision. _Or was it just human_ he mused. _To protect yourself too, from having to bear the other one's pain on top of your own._

"And now you're hunting the man you thought you knew…" he stated. She nodded. "If one only could correct one's mistakes…" she said softly and she looked at him. The soft lighting in the restaurant gave her eyes a glimmer of melancholy he had never seen before. And, subconsciously, he held his breath, if only for a second. _What did she mean with that? Does she want another chance? Should I give her one, can it work out?_ He absently picked up his glass of wine, and let the cardinal-red liquid oscillate in the glass as he stared at it.

"People all make mistakes," he said after a while. "The difference is some learn from them." He looked at her, gauging the impact of his words on her. The way she let her finger trial through her hair as she stroked a few curls back told him his words affected her. _How much_ he wondered, _as much as I was affected?_

Looking back, it was what a watershed is for a river, the line that forces water to travel to a direction once it has chosen it's initial path. It can't be reversed, nor flow to another direction. It's not palpable, but it's there.

Their breaking up was, of course, palpable, but the aftermath led to a direction he had never foreseen. Reasoning now, he realised, it was what hindered the development of many a steady relationship later on. With the women he met later in his life.

Uncertainty and caution competed when it came to admitting his feelings. Frightened him off from saying things he should have said. _And would've said_. He had opened up for someone, truly opened up and got hurt. Subconsciously, caution and inability to express his innermost had worked their way into his life. And formed a shroud of its own, wrapping him up inside it. Becoming a moat around a house: his life.

"Are you still mad at me?" she asked cautiously after a while. He let her question sink in. The way she asked it, he knew she understood he had been mad at her. And accepted it. _Was it part of her regrets, her realisation she had made a mistake?_

He pursed his lips. He felt how he wanted to say something, but how something pulled him back from expressing what he truly meant. And that 'something' he knew. _Thought he knew._

"No, I'm not mad at you," he answered and smiled. He truly wasn't. Not anymore.

"What made you and Jonathan break up?" he asked. But he knew the answer already. She shrugged slightly. "I felt I missed something. We left as friends." He nodded.

"I'm sorry," he said. She smiled. "Don't be, I should be the one who's sorry…."

He mustered her for a while. _Strange_, he thought. _I always thought that when she would come back again, I would return home, to become myself again. Cast away the shroud, and break the spell. And things will be all right…_

She noticed his absent-mindedness. "Do you… do you think it could be possible again?"

He didn't answer straightaway. He had gone there before, and gave himself truly and deeply. _If_ he would go there again, would he be able to bridge that moat? And grant her access to his inner realm?

"We've both moved on," she said, "but do you think I can be the one again you'll love…"

His gaze diverted from her to the entrance of the restaurant. She followed his gaze to see what had caught his attention, before his eyes rested on her again.

"Or am I already too late?"

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FIN 


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